


The Darkness She Found

by love_u_always_mom



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cruciatus, Double Agents, Gen, Good Severus Snape, Graphic Violence, Mentor Severus Snape, Rape, Sexual Violence, Torture, Triggers, possible eventual Hermione/Snape, though not likely
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-08 21:51:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8864041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/love_u_always_mom/pseuds/love_u_always_mom
Summary: After Professor Snape is outed, the order needs a new spy desperately. Armed with Gryffindor stubbornness, Hermione sets out to fill the vacated role.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I originally started for NaNoWriMo in 2015, and currently only has a couple chapters but I'm hoping to continue soon, hence my posting it.
> 
> This is a VERY DARK story. Do not take the warnings lightly.

Hermione Granger sat cross legged on her bed and set silencing and notice-me-not spells around the closed curtains of her four poster before placing her wand ready at her side. Closing her eyes she let her breathing slow, forcing her heart rate to follow. As a daily ritual since almost the beginning of fifth year it was something she was able to achieve nearly instantly and not even strictly necessary, she was well beyond beginner’s Occlumency. However, she knew that it was a good habit to keep and it made her more serious efforts easier if she centered herself with routine.

 

She had begun studying Occlumency almost as soon as they returned to school the previous year, long before Professor Snape and Professor Dumbledore had thought to teach it to Harry. She had wondered endlessly over the summer holidays after Voldemort’s return how Professor Snape could successfully spy without being caught, remembering what Harry had told them first year about him being able to tell he was lying. The moment they were back she had buried herself in the library looking for answers and had come across a book on Legilimency and Occlumency. The more she read, the more excited she became as she realized just how powerful a weapon it could be.

 

After checking out any book she could find that could point her toward learning the practise she had sequestered herself away in her dorm, set spells around her bed and started with the basics. It had taken her weeks of diligent practise to even clear her mind properly for more than a couple seconds, but it had paid off. More than a year had passed now and she was nearing the end of the most advanced books the Hogwarts library held on the subject. She only wished that she had someone to practise with, someone to challenge the complex conglomeration of walls and false images in her mind and test their integrity.

 

She had doubled, even tripled her efforts over the last two months as she raced toward a goal that had at one time simply been a quickly banished, foolhardy Gryffindor idea.

 

During the time Harry had been practising with Professor Snape the thought had occurred to her that perhaps, if she got good enough, she could find a way to become a second spy for the order. It had only been a fleeting thought, quickly dismissed for it’s utter ridiculousness. Professor Snape was their spy and he did a flawless job of it, risking life, limb and sanity every time he answered Voldemort’s call. It was simply her Gryffindor nature running wild, wanting to put herself blindly in harm’s way in the same manner Harry so often did.

 

But then everything had changed, and in her own mind, it had become their only option.

 

Three months previously, just a week after the beginning of their sixth year, Death Eaters had managed to capture Harry as he’d been flying around the quidditch pitch on his own. It still wasn’t known what happened or how it had come about, but that night Professor Snape had been called to a meeting to discover his enemy’s son bound and beaten at his feet. Voldemort expected Professor Snape to be the one to deliver the killing blow, perhaps after some long desired torture of the boy he loathed, and he had been faced with an impossible choice.

 

With what Harry described as the fastest and most impressive magic he had ever seen the Professor had freed him, disabling more than thirty Death Eaters in the immediate vicinity and apparated directly into the Headmaster’s office, a security detail set in place during the first war that no one but Dumbledore and Professor Snape knew about. It had been set with such a circumstance in mind, and keyed only to Professor Snape. Even the Headmaster could not apparate directly to any place within the grounds, and so the notion that Professor Snape _could_ was something neither Voldemort nor any of the Death Eaters would even consider.

 

From that day on Professor Snape had been utterly confined to Hogwarts Castle and the grounds beyond, able to venture into Hogsmeade only under Polyjuice or heavy glamour charms. The Order had lost its’ spy, and the war effort began suffering because of it almost immediately.

 

The single good thing that had come of the situation was the change in attitude toward Professor Snape from almost everyone in the school, save his own Slytherins. Rumor had it that Dumbledore had attempted to bring in two aurors to protect him from potential vengeance passed on from parents through their children, and that the man in question had threatened to curse the old man under the statement that if he could fool Voldemort for nearly two decades then he could most certainly protect himself against students.

 

As it became clear how badly the Order was suffering without the steady flow of information from Voldemort’s innermost ranks, what had once been a fleeting thought became a viable option and Hermione had thrown herself into advanced Occlumency with far more vigor than she had anything else in her school career. Harry and Ron were left mystified, unable to figure out what she was working so hard on that she was no longer giving her schoolwork the same level of dedication. She still held top marks of course, but didn’t spend any extra time or effort on it the way she once had. They hardly ever saw her outside of class and meals, as she was nearly always sequestered away on her bed slowly weaving a complex tapestry of truth and falsehood in her mind.

 

All of these thoughts buzzed in the back of her mind, behind a theoretically safe wall of Occlumency while at the forefront a carefully constructed series of combined truth and falsehood played out.

 

She had learned enough to know that while false memories, intentions and desires could be imagined, constructed and presented there had to be a grain of truth to them or an experienced Legilimens would be able to find the deception. If Voldemort detected even the slightest hint of deception when she finally chose to go before him, he would kill her.

 

It was likely he would kill her anyway.

 

Her heart began to speed up with apprehension and she forced it back to normal quickly, unable to afford such mistakes if she was going to go forward with this admittedly idiotic plan. The only chance she had of consideration was her skill, and the fact that even Voldemort himself couldn’t deny she could be a valuable asset.

 

Hermione focused on melding her real memories with the darker emotions haunting her, hoping desperately it would be enough.

 

* * *

 

Severus Snape prowled the late night corridors with more vigor than usual, fed up with being confined to the castle and the limited grounds beyond. It had been more than three months since he had been able to roam freely, without having to look over his shoulder every step of the way or worry about being captured and brought back to the Dark Lord, and all because of that insufferable Gryffindor!

 

Severus continued brooding as he made a sharp turn around a corner into a deserted hallway, so distracted by his inner turmoil that the pair of seventh years snogging in the alcove had time to perform Disillusionment charms before he passed them.

 

_He had just settled down in the armchair closest to the fire in his private quarters, intent on whiling away several hours reading when the mark on his left arm began to burn._

 

_“Bugger,” Severus swore to himself as he summoned the heavy robes and accompanying mask. He donned them with practised ease and placed his hand against an unremarkable stone on the far wall from the door, which slid back into the wall as a doorway formed. The doorway resealed itself behind him the moment he slipped silently through and began following a dank corridor to a flight of slick, steep stairs that he was going to break his neck on one day._

 

_Less than a minute after leaving his quarters Severus was emerging seemingly right from the wall of the castle, shrouded in darkness with the lateness of the evening. Various critters chirped, sang, croaked and snuffled as he made his way down the sloping lawn to the gate and through, disapparating not five minutes after he had been called._

 

_Blackness vanished and was replaced by the long lane leading up to the Malfoy Mansion, and the sound of screaming resigned him to the fact it was going to be a long night. If there was already screaming then that meant the Dark Lord was feeling particularly bloodthirsty, a mood that often lasted for hours. With a sigh he waved his wand at the gate and stepped directly through the bars, the brand on his arm allowing him admittance. Upon entering the mansion the screams grew louder, most definitely male in nature, though he thought not fully matured._

 

_He followed the sound to the drawing room, and his blood began growing cold the closer he got, as the voice inspired familiarity. He knew that voice, but there was no way it could be…_

 

_He threw the grand double doors open, and his eyes fell on the bound, gagged figure writhing in agony on the floor._

 

_It was. Harry bloody Potter._

 

_Macnair lifted his wand and with it the curse at Snape’s abrupt entrance, mind left scrambling both for his defences and a way to get them both out alive. Swallowing down panic with well-rehearsed ease, he stepped forward and knelt at the Dark Lord’s feet, blanking his mind as he kissed the hem of the robes floating in front of his face._

 

_“My Lord,” he intoned quietly. “An honor to heed your call, as always.”_

 

_“Rissse, Severussss… I have a special task for you tonight.”_

 

_Snape felt Potter’s desperate gaze boring into his back as he rose gracefully to his feet to face his Master, letting his hatred for the vile thing in front of him surge forward and mask itself as hatred for Potter, desire to see the boy’s blood flow out onto the stone floor._

 

_“Yes, Severus, you have guessed correctly. Tonight one of your brothers succeeded in bringing me Potter, and as a reward for your dedication, he is yours to do with as you please.” Thin lips parted over unnaturally white teeth, nearly a grimace in it’s width, and the intent was unmistakable. He had been called here to kill Potter, in whatever sadistic and gruesome way he desired._

 

_“Do you no longer have use of my position in the order?” He inquired neutrally, inflecting nothing but boredom and indifference into his tone._

 

_“It will not be challenged,” Voldemort hissed softly. “You were intercepted by Goyle and Crabbe before you entered the manor, and accompanied them to a muggle village of your invention. You never entered the manor, nor had any inclination of Potter’s capture or his presence here tonight._

 

_“Of course, My Lord. It will not be challenged.”_

 

_“Perhaps you would like to follow dear Bella’s example tonight?” Voldemort suggested gleefully._

 

_“My Lord?”_

 

_“Have some fun with him first. After all, has the boy not tormented you from the moment he entered your class?”_

 

_“Indeed, My Lord. Forgive me My Lord, but I confess myself confused. I thought it was your desire to kill the boy. Is it no longer?”_

 

_“You dare to question me, Severus?” Voldemort hissed dangerously._

 

_“Of course not, My Lord. I would be delighted to be the one to kill him. I simply present my curiosity at your change of heart.”_

 

_“Quite understandable Severus. If I were to be completely honest I would tell you it is your final test of loyalty,” he murmured slowly._

 

_“My Lord?”_

 

_“I have not forgotten the way you begged for the mudblood’s life so many years ago,” he said coldly. “Confessing your weakness of love, asking me to spare her so that you may have her.” Severus felt shame begin to coil in his belly and let it leach into his mind where Voldemort could sense it, though not its true origin. If he managed to get them both out of this alive there was no doubt in his mind Potter would have endless questions for him, as well as that ever present Gryffindor sense of nobility that would drive him to deliver a pity-based apology he neither needed nor wanted._

 

_Instead he let Voldemort think the shame was for weakness, youthful naivete and foolish desires as he lowered his head in a sorrowful image._

 

_“I have always wondered at your rather abrupt change of heart, Severus, that you were not angry with me for killing her.” Voldemort paused, seeming to ponder before continuing on. “She was nearly spared that night, Severus.” It took every last bit of his control to keep his head from jerking upright, but somehow he managed it, staying perfectly still as the words washed over him and pierced his heart. “She needn’t have died and I told her so, commanded her that she simply had to step aside from this boy,” he pointed at Potter, “and I would spare her, but she refused. She chose her own death Severus, and the person responsible is laying on the floor.”_

 

_Contrary to its intent, the knowledge that Lily had known she could live and yet still chose to die for Potter lessened his resentment instead of raising it. For years he had been of the belief that she had never stood a chance simply because the boy existed. But the knowledge that she had been given the choice, had known her life would be spared and yet chose to die eased something in his chest even if he couldn’t pinpoint why._

 

_“Kill the boy, Severus. Kill what she died to protect and I will never question your loyalties again. You have my word.”_

 

_“Yes, My Lord.”_

 

_Severus turned around slowly, blanking his face as he considered his options. Or rather, his option. Because killing Potter wasn’t one of them, even if it would make things that much easier. He could spin the tale Voldemort had crafted, never let the old man know he had been the one to deal the killing blow. He had done more terrible things in service of the Dark Lord than he cared think about and lived with them each day, but taking the life out of those green eyes wasn’t something he could bring himself to do._

 

_And worse yet, Potter was just lying on the floor watching him, no cries for help or mercy coming from his lips nor condemnation from his eyes. He had resigned himself to his own death, something he had evaded for fifteen years._

 

_Severus drew on his power, centering himself with the same basic exercises he adopted twenty years previously when he began to teach himself Occlumency. Deep breath in, deep breath out, feel the magic build and roil underneath his skin, in his chest and gut when an idea came to him, and he pictured himself cursing the boy with his own wand. Voldemort cackled and produced the Phoenix feather wand from the pocket of his robes, thrusting it hilt first into Severus’s waiting hand._

 

_The moment his hand was around it he let loose a dark curse of his own invention from both wands, swinging them around to wound as many Death Eaters as he could manage. Over a dozen fell, the deep red of their blood rapidly staining their robes as he sent curse after curse, hex after hex at anyone both in and out of his line of sight. Voldemort had been hit badly with his first curse, and though he knew it was far from what was needed to kill him it would keep him down long enough that he and Potter had a chance to get away._

 

_With his own wand he freed Potter from his bindings while hitting Malfoy and Bellatrix with a single stunner with the other, giving him only a couple of moments. Praying to whatever deity may be listening that the apparation key to the Headmaster’s office was still in place, Severus performed a powerful summoning charm to bring Potter’s weak form to him with a hoarse cry of shock. The moment he had a hand securely around Potter’s wrist he turned, vanishing from the room with a deafening crack._

 

Severus wrenched himself from the memory and forced it to the back of his mind, choosing instead to ponder whether there would be side effects of him channeling such dark magic through a wand that had never conducted it before. He had briefly studied wandlore himself, and knew there was uncanny truth to the statement ‘the wand chooses the wizard’. His own wand had chosen him in spite of, or perhaps because of, the fact that it could no doubt sense the potential in him for dark magic. But a wand like Potter’s, which had no doubt not sensed any such inclination, may react adversely to being forced to conduct such magic. Resolving to speak with Ollivander on the matter at his first opportunity he continued walking, mind moving on to the Order and its struggles in wake of his new lack of status. There had been a day they depended on every word from his mouth as a matter of life and death, and now he was sequestered away in the castle of no more use than Black had been the last year. Fate really was a bitch sometimes.

 

If only he still had a worthwhile purpose, beyond teaching potions to dunderheads that didn’t want to learn in the first place, perhaps it would put him at ease. The idea of doing something, _anything,_ to further the war effort was intoxicating, even if it were just assisting Lupin in defence classes. A derisive snort escaped him at the thought that even being Lupin’s bloody assistant was appealing. Clearly the world was coming to an end. He was of no more use than Black had been and it was left to Lupin to teach hundreds of students more defence than he could possibly cram into their heads alone…

 

A thought struck him then, and Severus stopped in his tracks as he began to consider it.

 

* * *

 

Hermione paced the dungeon corridor nervously the following evening, indulging a sudden inspiration that could either prove to be the best or worst decision she had ever made.

 

A month earlier she would have missed the nearly silent footsteps approaching her, perhaps startled violently at his sudden appearance behind her, but Hermione had trained her senses to detect the smallest of differences, and turned to face Professor Snape just as he rounded the corner. Clearly her awareness caught him by surprise but he hid it almost instantly, fixing his usual scowl into place as he brushed past her.

 

“Miss Granger,” he greeted coldly. “To what do I owe the… pleasure?”

 

She let his sneering attitude roll off her shoulders without agitating her, something else she had become quite accomplished at as of late. If she was going to do this she had to master control over all her emotions, even the smallest ones.

 

“I require your assistance with a… personal endeavour, as it were,” she told him quietly.

 

“And why could you not bring this endeavour to a member of staff who wishes for your company?”

 

“Priorities,” she told him vaguely. “This war is ours to fight as well, no matter what the other professors want to think. I don’t want to sit helplessly by and cower behind them, I want to know how to fight for myself.”

 

Snape stopped and considered her carefully, taken aback by the maturity in her words. “Go on,” he invited.

 

“I’ve been teaching myself Occlumency, and though I’ve worked my way nearly to the end of the advanced books from the restricted section I’ve never been tested, so I don’t know how well or not I’ve learned. I know you won’t hold back, if you choose to help me. The Headmaster-”

 

“Would never agree to indulge you,” he finished for her.

 

“Exactly.”

 

“And what makes you think I will, Miss Granger?”

 

“Because you want us to be able to protect ourselves, think for ourselves, rather than sit blindly by, waiting to die.”

 

“Very well,” he agreed slowly, “But one question before we begin.”

 

“Yes sir?”

 

“To what end?”

 

She quirked a smile. “If you find the answer Professor, then I’ll know I’m not ready.”

 

The corner of his mouth twitched before he controlled his expression, and she was quite sure he was fighting at least a hint of a smile as he raised his wand. “Accepted. _Legilimens!_ ”

 

At once he was present in her mind, dominating and nearly irresistable before she pulled herself together, shocked briefly at the sudden invasion. She felt him pushing at her immediately, seeking the answer to his question relentlessly. With a move she had practised only in theory she nudged forward her ponderings from two summers ago while at the same time pretending to hide them, hours spent wondering how he could go before a man who couldn’t be lied to and lie anyway, living to tell the tale. She felt him latch onto the memory and begin to follow it forward, leading through her discovery of Occlumency and Legilimency and her first weeks, months of practice. She forced herself to indifference as he brushed over the memory of her first fleeting notion of joining Voldemort, not letting herself feel relief as he ignored the invitation to her true motivation.

 

Relentlessly he followed the thread as she advanced, moved beyond clearing her mind to actually forming barriers around her thoughts, and then forcing other thoughts in front of those barriers to disguise them. He studied her struggles with forming false memories and playing them out in front of these barriers, and her realization that tying them in with real memories helped make them realistic, then adding in emotions and desires, feelings and sensations to flesh them out. He experienced her first breakdown at the realization of just how complex and difficult true Occlumency was, her fear of failure and feelings of inadequacy.

 

And here she let her instinctive protectiveness of Harry begin to creep through again, the very real emotion overlaying mental images of her own creation, picturing herself learning Occlumency well enough that she could protect his mind as well as her own.

 

His departure from her mind was so sudden it left her reeling momentarily, so much so that she almost didn’t catch the first scathing words out of his mouth.

 

“Pathetic, Granger,” he spat. “Your mind is as open as the books you so often have your nose buried in and you lack discipline and order. More than a year’s study and everything you claim to have taught yourself flies out the window the moment it is challenged.”

 

Hermione allowed herself a brief feeling of immense triumph, for Snape’s words proved that he hadn’t the faintest clue he was only seeing what she wanted him to see.

 

Evidently her lack of reaction to his reprimand was as telling as cheering would have been, for he stopped quite suddenly and stared at her. “I only saw what you showed me,” he realized slowly.

 

She permitted herself a brief self-congratulatory smile. “Yes, sir.”

 

Without warning he forced himself into her mind again, something not entirely unexpected. He was much more forceful this time, not sidetracked by her attempts to draw him into related memories. Instead he pushed relentlessly forward and again she hid something she wanted him to see behind a strong but flawed barrier that he broke through with more effort than the first time, fooling him into thinking he had gotten through her defences. This time it was an image of her lying straight to Dumbledore’s face about some of the boy’s antics, letting her desire to keep them out of trouble convincingly overlay it.

 

Again he withdrew suddenly from her mind, opened his mouth to reprimand her before closing it when he realized he had again been sidetracked and fooled. She had decided long ago that her best bet was pretending that her barriers had been broken down if the Dark Lord decided to probe, making him think that he was too powerful for her. She would play up Dumbledore’s blind trust, the way he wouldn’t begin to think that Harry Potter’s innocent muggleborn friend could possibly be a bloodthirsty traitor.

 

She and Professor Snape went round after round for more than two hours before he finally, reluctantly called it quits. She was glad of it, too. She may have been successful but she was also utterly exhausted, collapsing into the chair he conjured behind her the moment it appeared.

 

“Very well Miss Granger, you seem to have taught yourself the art admirably well. I daresay that whatever it is you _do_ have in mind, you are more than capable of it.”

 

Hermione couldn't help the tired smile that crossed her face, though it faded into confusion moments later. “Aren’t you going to demand to know?”

 

“Am I correct in assuming it is something to assist the order?” He inquired. She nodded. “And that it is something I would be required to object to, should I become aware before it comes to pass?”

 

Hermione paused. “Yes, sir.”

 

“Then no, Miss Granger, I would rather not know as I do not want to be forced to put a stop to something that has a chance of helping us gain the ground we have lost as of late.”

 

“Ever the Slytherin,” she quipped without thinking.

 

Instead of reprimanding her for insolence, however, he simply smirked. “Precisely, Miss Granger.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's where it gets ugly. You've been warned.
> 
> Also, though I tagged it 'possible eventual Hermione/Snape', the chances of that are pretty slim.

“Hermione,” Harry prodded gently. “Are you alright?”

 

Hermione looked up from where she was picking at her dinner instead of actually eating it. “Sorry?”

 

“I said, are you alright? You’ve been very quiet.”

 

Guilt curled in her stomach as Harry and Ron both looked at her earnestly, honest concern for her written all over their faces.

 

“Fine,” she lied. At this Ron scoffed and Harry glared, making her lower her gaze. “Just nerves,” she conceded. “Something for the Order.” Ron began asking something, and she cut in quickly. “We can’t talk about it here.”

 

Ron closed his mouth and the pair followed her out of the Great Hall, all three walking in silence until they reached the Gryffindor common room. She jerked her head toward the boys’ dormitory and they led the way up, double checking to be sure they were alone before she set a silencing spell around them.

 

“They gave you a mission?” Ron exclaimed.

 

She shook her head quickly. “They didn’t give me one, no, it’s one I gave myself. They’d not approve if they knew.”

 

This statement earned her mischievous grins, which she tried to match for their sake. As long as they didn’t know what she was setting out to do, they would support her.

 

“Who are you and what have you done with Hermione Granger?” Ron asked gleefully. Hermione made herself giggle, though privately she wondered the same thing.

 

“I guess she got sick of being told what to do even though she’s been of age for over two months.”

 

“Blimey, I always forget about that,” Harry piped up. “I keep forgetting it’s not eighteen for wizards.”

 

“What are you going to do?” Ron cut in, eyes alight.

 

“I can’t tell you just yet,” she told them patiently. “If all goes well, I’ll tell you after.”

 

“And if not…” Harry trailed off uncertainly.

 

She smiled wryly. “It’s a war. Do I need to elaborate on what happens if I fail?” Ron opened his mouth, but she cut him off before he could get a word out. “And no, you absolutely cannot come with me. No arguments.”

 

Harry looked crestfallen, Ron confused. “Why not?”

 

She decided on the truth, or part of it anyway. “Because neither of you can perform Occlumency. I can.”

 

“You can teach us! I’m sure I’d learn loads faster with you than I did with the- With Professor Snape,” Harry finished lamely. Clearly, old habits took a while to wear off.

 

“Not by tonight you can’t.”

 

“Tonight!” They chorused in shock.

 

“Tonight. I’ve prepared everything I possibly can and really, it can’t wait any longer.”

 

“Does anyone know what you’re going to do?” Harry inquired softly.

 

“Professor Snape knows I’m going to attempt something the order wouldn’t approve of. I asked him to test my Occlumency three days ago, to make sure I was ready.”

 

“Three days ago? What’ve you been doing since?”

 

“Planning how I’m going to do it,” she said shortly.

 

“Wait, and he didn’t want to know why, or what you’re going to do?”

 

“Professor Snape is a logical thinker. He’s not willing to put a stop to something that will help the Order, and he knows that if he knew what I was going to do that he would be required to stop me. So he’d rather find out after it’s done.”

 

“Bloody slimy bastard, isn’t he?”

 

Harry and Hermione both shot Ron accusing glares, and he held his hands up. “What? I didn’t say it was a bad thing. But you can’t deny it’s true.”

 

“Dumbledore’s going to be in a right state,” Harry agreed. “I’m assuming that’s why you went to Snape instead?”

 

“Yes, it is.”

 

“How… How likely is it that it’ll go well, Hermione?” Ron asked slowly.

 

Hermione thought for a long moment, unsure what to tell them. If she told them her honest thoughts they’d likely never let her go. Unfortunately, her hesitation wasn’t doing her any favours either.

 

“Hermione…” Harry began warningly.

 

“That depends on your definition of ‘go well’, honestly.”

 

“How likely is it that you’re going to come back alive?”

 

She heaved a deep sigh. “I don’t know.”

 

“Hermione…” Ron pleaded.

 

“It needs to be done. Wait for me to return in the common room. I don’t know how long I’ll be, but I should be back by dawn. Tomorrow is Saturday, so I know you’ll be up ‘til nearly then anyway.”

 

“And how will we know if it… goes badly,” Harry asked slowly.

 

Hermione pulled a small bottle out of her pocket that currently held a thin, blood red potion. “It’s got a drop of my blood it, which is also tied to my magic. If it turns _light_ grey it means my life is in danger, and if it turns clear it means I’ve been killed.”

 

“Will it turn any other colours?” Ron wondered aloud.

 

“I fully expect it will turn some shade of brown, but you have to promise me you won’t worry unless it begins turning grey. _Light_ grey. Dark grey and black are something else entirely.”

 

“And if it does, then what are we supposed to do?” Harry shot back, annoyed. “Seeing as we don’t know where you’re going or what you’re doing.”

 

“Call Dobby,” she answered simply. “He’s bringing me there. And no, he won’t tell you as I’ve expressly ordered him not to.”

 

Ron’s expression fell, proving she had been right to cover that loophole already. She looked down at the thin watch on her wrist and stood abruptly. “I have to go, I haven’t the first clue how long it will take and quite frankly I’d really rather just get it over with.”

 

Both Harry and Ron stood as well and hugged her fiercely, and the trio stood in the middle of the room like that for a long moment before pulling away. Tactfully, she pretended not to notice their eyes were a bit shinier than usual.

 

“I love you both,” she told them seriously. “Remember that, no matter what happens.”

 

“Us too,” Ron responded a moment later, taken aback by her tone.

 

She smiled and swallowed back her tears, forcing her wayward emotions to the back of her mind where they belonged. If she had any chance of getting out of this alive, she was going to have to pretend she didn’t care about them at all. Strong emotions made it harder to hide things, and she was beginning to understand why Snape had always been such a bastard. If you pushed everyone away, it made it that much easier to not have emotional memories to hide.

 

When the door closed behind her, Harry and Ron turned to each other with worried expressions, and Ron glanced down at the bottle in his hand. “Harry,” he began slowly, “Why do I get the feeling she doesn’t think she’s going to survive?”

 

“She will,” Harry responded shakily. “She has to.”

 

* * *

 

 

“And Miss is sure about this,” Dobby asked her for what had to be the tenth time.

 

“Not at all,” Hermione admitted, “But it has to be done. Now remember, either I will call for you, or Harry or Ron will if I’m in danger.”

 

“Yes Miss,” Dobby sighed, sounding resigned.

 

Hermione forced herself to smile at him. “When I get back I’ll knit you a brand new sweater, whatever colours you like.”

 

Dobby beamed at her. “Miss is very kind to Dobby. Is Miss ready?”

 

Hermione brushed her hands nervously down the heavy black robes she had bought during the first - and so far only - Hogsmeade weekend of the year. She had spent more gold on them than she was comfortable with, but she thought that a good presentation may benefit her. She was quite certain they wouldn’t survive the night, but if all went to plan it would, theoretically, be worth it. And if it didn’t go to plan, well, she wouldn’t be around to miss the gold.

 

She took several deep breaths to clear and settle her mind properly. “As ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.” Dobby took her hand, and they vanished from her dorm with a resounding crack.

 

They appeared in front of a high, heavy iron gate blocking a lane leading up to an elaborate manor that was very clearly ancient. She could make a very good guess as to who lived here.

 

“Is this where the Malfoys live?”

 

“Yes Miss,” Dobby whispered. She looked down at him and found that his abnormally large eyes were even wider than usual, and all the blood had gone from his face in fear.

 

“You can go,” she told him kindly, though she longed for company for just a bit longer. Hermione swallowed down the fear blossoming in her chest, forcing it behind the wall in her mind along with everything but what she came here to do. “I’ll call when I need you.”

 

Dobby nodded, and vanished with a crack just as the front doors swept open, spilling light down the stairs and walkway. Even from this distance, the sharp profile and sleek hair of Narcissa Malfoy was evident, and a small amount of relief welled in her chest. She had been expecting Bellatrix.

 

When she reached the other side of the gate, Narcissa sneered down at her as though she were something rotten stuck on the bottom of her shoe. “And what do we have here?”

 

Hermione took a measured breath. “I’d like to speak with the Dark Lord.”

 

Narcissa’s shock was evident in her expression, which she didn’t bother to control. “And what would a dirty mudblood want with Him?”

 

“To learn,” she answered honestly, “To prove myself, and to prove others wrong. I would like to be a proper witch.”

 

Narcissa waved her wand at the gates before thrusting her arm directly through a bar, grasping Hermione’s arm and dragging her forward through it.

 

“Come with me then, if you’re so eager for your death.” Narcissa said coldly, turning on her heel and stalking back toward the manor. Hermione’s heels clicked on the gravel walkway as she followed, breathing slowly and ensuring her shields were intact.

 

The walk seemed endless, but she forced herself to focus on the details around her. It occurred to her that she should allow herself to be nervous, or at least act nervous lest Voldemort realize she was more adept at Occlumency than she wanted him to know. Her heart sped up and began to pound as she followed Narcissa up the stairs and through the door into an entryway she could have spent hours marveling at another time.

 

She followed Narcissa from there into the drawing room, long and elegantly done with a fire burning brightly in the fireplace. And seated in what could only be described as a throne at the end of the room, was Voldemort himself. She scarcely noticed the huge snake winding around his ankles, though she knew it to be Nagini. Ruby eyes fixed on her and nearly nonexistent lips spread into a malicious grin as she followed Narcissa to stand in front of him.

 

“My Lord,” Narcissa murmured, folding herself into a deep curtsy that Hermione copied, lowering her eyes to the floor. “The mudblood wishes to speak with you.”

 

“So I see,” Voldemort hissed softly, sounding almost gleeful. “And what would a dirty little mudblood want with me, if not to die?”

 

“Knowledge,” she responded, keeping her eyes on the floor, “Power. I’d like to earn my place in wizarding society.”

 

“Look at me.”

 

Hermione raised her eyes, already braced for his intrusion. As his mind connected with hers she focused as much as she could on truths, how much she loved to learn and her frustration at always being regarded as a lesser being in wizarding society. She remembered her frustration with the lack of information Hogwarts offered on the Dark Arts, though she hid the true reason behind that frustration. She pictured herself commanding respect, even fear as she walked down Diagon Alley and how much it angered her that people automatically assumed Neville was a better wizard than her because he was a pureblood. Most of all, though, she focused on her endless hunger for knowledge and how badly she wanted to learn everything there was to know about magic.

 

Voldemort cackled as he pulled back from her mind. “And what can you offer me in return?”

 

“A potentially powerful Death Eater, information from inside the Order. More valuable than that, however, I can eventually bring you Harry Potter.”

 

“You would betray your pathetic little friends to join me?”

 

She deliberately called forward multiple memories, all of times where either Harry or Ron had done or said something stupid, and how she had always found solace in the library or in her schoolbooks, learning something new. She remembered all the times one or the other had approached her only for a question on some piece of homework and then gone to find something more interesting as soon as they had their answer.

 

“Yes, my Lord,” she answered quietly.

 

“And what makes you think you are worthy of being in my presence?” Voldemort inquired, voice deadly quiet and yet still managing to cover every inch of the room, sending shivers up her spine. Thankfully, she knew the answer to this question.

 

“I am not worthy, my Lord.” She swallowed, and continued. “Perhaps you should punish me for inflicting my presence upon you.” Somehow, she managed to make the words sound sincere, and called forward the shame she had felt the first time Lucius Malfoy had looked down at her, sneering at her parentage.

 

“Kneel before me,” he commanded.

 

She did as he bade immediately, falling to her knees in front of him and folding her hands upon her thighs, head bowed toward the floor. She heard the rustle of his robes as he drew his wand, and had barely a moment’s notice before the pain hit her.

 

It was like fire and electricity flowing along her nerves, and battery acid filling her veins as he held the curse on her. In some corner of her mind she realized she was screaming her throat raw. Her back arched unnaturally as she clawed at the stone floor for purchase, tears flowing freely down her cheeks.

 

All at once the pain vanished, leaving her trembling and fighting for breath with the aftershocks. Gingerly she brought herself back to her knees, adopting the same pose as before.

 

“Do you still wish to serve me?”

 

“Yes, my Lord. I know I am not worthy, but I would like to be.” She hesitated, then chose to speak the thought that had just come to her mind. He was a Slytherin, after all, and therefore would understand a selfish motive. “If I am serving you, no one will dare call me mudblood again.”

 

“And what of your filthy muggle parents?”

 

Hermione was relieved that this time, she didn’t have to lie at all, though she had to force her pain as far back in her mind as it would go. “Already dead, my Lord. In a muggle related incident this past summer.”

 

Struck by sudden inspiration, she imagined herself finding the prison which held the muggle men who had broken into her parents’ home and killed them remorselessly when they got in the way of their robbery. The hatred that burned through her at the memory of the reports she had stolen didn’t need to be faked or embellished upon, it burned quite passionately of its own accord.

 

“And why would you wish to avenge muggles?”

 

In response to this she remembered a conversation she’d had with her parents two summers ago, where they had been feeling inferior for being muggles, both wishing desperately they were magical as well so as to truly be a part of her world.

 

“They recognized their place, my Lord.”

 

“So it would seem,” he agreed. “However, your lingering fondness is still a weaknesssss.”

 

Hermione braced herself. “Yes, my Lord.”

 

Though she expected the pain, it did nothing to prepare her for the severity of it. It was more intense, worse than the first time and yet she knew that what she was feeling didn’t even qualify as pain next to what Snape had certainly been put through in his years of serving. And yet she endured, even as she lost control of her body’s functions and her bladder released itself. Once again, the pain ended as suddenly as it had begun. It took her longer to right herself this time, and though she desperately wished to clean herself up she made no move for her wand.

 

“You are a resilient young witch,” Voldemort considered. “Perhaps you would be a meager addition to our ranks after all. Would you like to prove yourself?”

 

“Please, my Lord. I would be honoured.”

 

“Then clean yourself and stand, mudblood.”

 

Gratefully she drew her wand and performed a cleansing charm as well as one to neutralize the smell before slowly bringing herself to her feet.

 

“Narcissa, fetch your husband. Perhaps being a mudblood’s plaything will teach him who he answers to.”

 

The woman made a small choking noise, but Hermione heard her footsteps quickly retreat, returning moments later with a heavier tread following them.

 

“My Lord?” Lucius’ voice came from behind her. “My wife says you have need of me?” The hope was plain in his voice, and she felt a surge of malicious glee that she would be the one to dash that hope. Remembering where she was, she let it consume her, earning a pleased laugh from Voldemort as he sensed it.

 

“The mudblood wishes to learn more than what the old fool is willing to teach, and so she comes to us. As you have yet to prove yourself useful once again, I thought you would prove a good test subject.” Voldemort returned his attention to her. “You may begin.”

 

“My Lord,” she began timidly, “I was rather hoping someone could teach me how to do the curse properly? I only know the theory, and Bellatrix seems particularly adept.”

 

“Fetch your sister,” Voldemort commanded Narcissa. Behind her she heard Lucius make a frightful noise in the back of his throat, and embraced another surge of satisfaction. She waited patiently for Narcissa to return with Bellatrix, who cackled upon entering the room.

 

“The mudblood brat! Whatever is she doing here?”

 

“She wishes you to teach her the Cruciatus, Bella.”

 

Bellatrix stalked into her view, and she bent her knees in a much smaller version of the curtsy she had afforded Voldemort. “Madam Lestrange,” she greeted politely.

 

Bellatrix cackled again. “Well at least it knows its place.”

 

“Narcissa, fetch Wormtail. I have a task for him while these two play.”

 

She heard Narcissa click away for the third time, but her eyes were on Bellatrix as she approached. “Alright, first things first missy, you have to _mean_ it. You have to _want_ to cause them pain, you have to _enjoy_ it. Can you do that?”

 

Hermione took a long look at Lucius, and behind her mental shields saw him sneering at and belittling her parents. Where Voldemort could sense it she remembered the scathing tone in which he called her mudblood, the way he looked down on her without knowing what she could do. “Yes, I can,” she responded coldly.

 

“Right then, I’ll show you how.” Bellatrix pulled long black gloves from a pocket of her robes and slipped them on. “Even if you do want to be one of us, I’m still not touching a mudblood.”

 

“Of course,” she agreed, smiling pleasantly. Bellatrix moved behind her, placing her left hand on Hermione’s shoulder and wrapping her right over her own, and Hermione raised her arm to cast the spell, wand pointed at Lucius. “Now, pay attention to how it feels, and say it with me. One, two, three, crucio!”

 

Hermione said the spell in the same moment as Bellatrix, and felt the older woman’s magic flow through her own body as her own wand conducted the spell. She felt the raw, naked power of the spell as it coursed through her, could feel the sense of power it gave Bellatrix to make Lucius writhe and scream. Pushing back her disgust Hermione forced herself to let her own magic combine with Bellatrix’s, let her own hatred of Lucius overtake her mind and put more power into the spell. Suddenly Lucius began screaming louder, writhing harder as she added to the spell and Bellatrix laughed delightedly in her ear before releasing it.

 

Hermione panted slightly, feeling high on the power coursing through her veins as Bellatrix let go of her and stepped back. “On your own now, lets see it.”

 

Hermione nodded, taking a deep breath as she recalled the way Bellatrix’s magic had felt as she cast the curse. The ease with which she performed the curse on her own would later unnerve her, though in the moment she could feel only her burning need for vengeance for her friends. The curse called to the darkest parts of her, where anger and fear dominated her good sense.

 

She didn’t know how long she held the curse on Lucius, only that when she finally let it go he had passed out on the floor, and Voldemort was clapping gleefully behind her.

 

“Remarkably well done, for someone who has never made an attempt at the Dark Arts before,” he commended. “Your exceptional power will prove useful to us, I think.”

 

“Thank you very much, my Lord. I wish only to please.”

 

“I can see that,” he agreed. “And Wormtail has returned just in time.”

 

“My Lord?”

 

“Though I punish those who anger me without mercy,” he waved his hand at Lucius, “I also reward those who please me. You sought vengeance, and so you shall receive it.”

 

At that moment Voldemort waved his wand, and two bodies came floating through the air to drop at her feet in between them. In the back of her mind she knew something was very wrong with her, that she should be appalled by what she had done to Lucius but strangely she couldn’t feel anything at all. When one of the men rolled to face her, however, a powerful surge of hatred flared through her and she cast her curse without stopping to consider it, wanting only to make them hurt for what they had done. Her lip curled as she watched him on the floor, another rush of power surged through her and he screamed louder, voice cracking under the strain.

 

She lifted the curse and let her breathing even out, watching the other man as he stared at her in terror, clearly waiting for his turn. After watching him watch her for several seconds she lifted her wand and cast the curse again, reveling in returning the pain he had caused her tenfold. After his voice cracked like the first man’s had she lifted the curse, waited for them to catch their breath. When they had, she stalked forward slowly, measuring her pace and footsteps.

 

“Which one of you raped her?” She asked, voice deadly quiet.

 

Both men shook their heads frantically, blubbering incoherent sounds of denial. She raised her wand again, making both men pale considerably. The first man pointed a shaking hand at the second.

 

“H-h-he always d-d-d-d-does,” he managed to choke out.

 

A cruel smirk curved her lips as she turned her wand on the man who had just spoken. “Imperio,” she murmured.

 

Unlike the cruciatus she needed no instruction in this curse, she felt the power race up her arm the moment it was cast. Looking at the man now dazed and awaiting her command, she spoke to him in a deceptively soft voice. “Rape him.”

 

The second man’s eyes widened comically as the first immediately got to his knees and began undoing his belt.

 

“Justin!” The second man shouted as the first shoved his pants down along with his boxers, stroking his dick rapidly. “Justin it’s me, stop it!” The man he was calling Justin didn’t show the slightest sign of hesitation, prompting the second to start scrambling to his feet. Justin grabbed him by the wrist and slammed him back down on the floor, moving to straddle his knees as he undid the other man’s belt and jeans as well. “Justin it’s me, it’s Marlowe, knock it off!”

 

Justin yanked Marlowe’s pants down his legs and off one foot before spreading the other man’s legs on either side of his hips. The first man spat into his hand and coated himself with saliva before shoving himself into the other roughly. Marlowe screamed in pain as he was torn open, and from her angle Hermione could see blood begin to flow as Justin proceeded to thrust roughly, and the man named Marlowe continued to scream, sob and beg.

 

Within minutes the man named Justin grunted and removed himself from the other, sitting back on his heels while Marlowe lay on the floor coughing and crying. With that she lifted the imperius and watched in fascination as Justin realized what he had done.

 

“Mar?” He asked in bewilderment, leaning forward to reach out for the other. When Marlowe flinched back violently from his hand Justin gave him a confused look before something cleared in his mind and he looked down at his own exposed body, horror crossing his expression as the realization dawned on him. “Marlowe! Fuck, Mar I’m so sorry it wasn’t me I swear it wasn’t! That bitch did something to my head Mar, you have to believe me, please!”

 

Hermione then turned her wand on Marlowe, enslaving him with the Imperius curse instead. Justin was at least smart enough to recognize the blankness that took over his friend’s face, backing away in fear.

 

“Kill him,” Hermione commanded. “Slowly.” Another wave of her wand made a small dagger appear in his hand. “With that, draw it out. Make him suffer the same way he made them.”

 

“Mar…” Justin began, though he had to know it was no good. “Marlowe listen to me, it’s not you, don’t do it!”

 

The man named Marlowe simply crawled after the other like a predator stalking its prey and Hermione, sick of watching Justin crawl away, cast a silent, modified petrifying hex. Marlowe caught up and wasted no time dragging the knife down Justin’s thigh, pressing deep into the muscle and drawing a rather horrific scream from his throat as blood poured from the wound. He then repeated the cut on the other leg, before moving upward and shoving the knife carefully in between the two floating ribs on the left side of his body. Next he repeated the motion on the right side, before sawing his way methodically across Justin’s abdomen to connect the cuts. Blood poured out across the floor, pooling around Marlowe’s knees and coating his hands completely as Justin bled out beneath him. As Justin was just beginning to lose consciousness Marlowe pressed the blade of the knife against the left side of his throat, pressing in slowly before dragging it across the front and to the right side.

 

Blood from Justin’s throat joined the widening pool on the floor, and Hermione lifted the curse on Marlowe just in time for him to see the light fade from his eyes as his life ended. Unlike Justin, Marlowe made no sound as the knife fell from his grip, clanging on the hard floor as he fell to his side next to the first man, choking on his anguish. After a long moment, she chose to end his misery.

 

“Avada Kedavra!”

 

The power of the curse shot through her body as it left her wand, and when it connected with Marlowe’s prone form she felt his life force enter her own body, strengthening her and enhancing the high still buzzing in her mind. She knew there was something very wrong, but it didn’t quite seem important anymore so long as the magic in her veins didn’t stop singing with its renewed vigour.

 

Voldemort’s cold voice cut through part of the haze, though not enough of it for her to yet care about what may be wrong in her mind. “Kneel before me,” he commanded her again.

 

Hermione obeyed without question, sinking to her knees before him as he, at long last, stood from his throne and moved to stand directly before her. He took her left arm in his hand and shoved the sleeve up, exposing the pale flesh of her forearm and drawing his wand.

 

“This will hurt,” he informed her coldly.

 

“I look forward to the pain, my Lord,” she murmured back, and he laughed.

 

“Oh, you think so.”

 

The tip of his wand pressed hard against her flesh, halfway between her wrist and elbow. “Morsmordre,” Voldemort intoned quietly.

 

The spell rang of familiarity somewhere in her mind, though she couldn’t call it forth as she was taken over by the all consuming agony that was radiating from her arm as blackness began to grow underneath the skin. As the top of the mark took form and bound with her magic the haze in her mind began to clear, perhaps due to the searing agony blinding her and yet freezing her in place. She couldn’t scream, couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe for the pain, and an awful darkness bled through her and bound itself to the darkness in her using the Unforgivables had caused. The Mark continued to take form and her mind cleared completely, bringing with it the full weight of the knowledge of what she had done. It took everything she had to withhold her Occlumency, to keep the horror locked up in the back of her mind until she could escape this horrid place.

 

She felt the dark magic from the Mark flow through her as it continued to form, tainting every bit of magic flowing through her soul until they had bonded together so tightly she feared it could never be separated. With a final swoop of his wand Voldemort finished the Mark and released her arm, which she drew back against herself with a cry of pain.

 

“Go, now,” he commanded her, “And tell that old fool you have chosen to take over the traitor’s place as their precious _informant._ ” With a final wave of his wand something appeared in her pocket, though she didn't know what it might be and didn't much care.

 

“Yes, my Lord,” she managed to choke out, before rising to her feet. She curtsied once more before turning her back and exiting the room, unable to keep her eyes from the bodies on the floor.

 

She found her way out of the house and down the lane in a daze, not even noticing the gate change to smoke to allow her exit. With her last vestige of control, she called.

 

“Dobby!”

 

He appeared instantly in front of her, blue eyes growing rounder as he took in the tears threatening to fall from her eyes and the tremors beginning at her fingertips. He took her wrist in hand and twisted quickly, taking them both from the manor with a whip-like crack.

 

They appeared at the edge of the Black Lake, where Hermione immediately fell to her knees and vomited everything left in her stomach, then dry heaved numerous times as the events of the night well and truly sunk in. As soon as she had forced her own magic to respond to Bellatrix, it had changed everything. Something dark, ugly had risen up inside her and masked everything but the surge of power the curse granted her, made her high on Lucius’ pain and the darkness surging in her veins.

 

“Take me to Snape,” she managed to choke out, “And tell the boys I’m safe. But get me to Snape first.”

 

Dobby nodded and took her wrist once more, taking her immediately to Professor Snape’s darkened office where she once again collapsed on the floor. Moments later the door opened with a bang as it slammed against the stone wall, revealing a disheveled Snape in the lighted doorway. Hermione remained on her hands and knees, choking on her own sobs as the weight of what she’d done and the fact she’d _enjoyed_ doing it washed over her like a tidal wave, consuming everything in her mind and overriding anything else.

 

“Miss Granger!” Snape shouted as he rushed forward. “Explain yourself, now! What is the meaning of this nonsense?”

 

Still coughing, she held up her left arm, felt the wide sleeve fall away as gravity took it down toward her elbow and heard his gasp of astonishment - or was it horror - as he saw the Dark Mark branded into her flesh.

 

She met his deep black eyes with her own as she looked out from her own personal hell, on her knees on the floor in front of him and said the only thing that came to mind.

  
“Kill me.”


End file.
